SNOW CRASH
“I’m not offering anything,” she says, “but if you want to stand there and browse, that’s cool.”
He stands there and browses for a while. Long enough that people farther back in line stand up on tiptoe to see what the problem is. But when they see that the problem is this particular individual, they get down off their toes real fast, hunch down, sort of blend in to the mass of fishy-smelling wool.
“What’s for dessert today?” the guy asks. “Cot anything sweet for me?”
“We don’t believe in dessert,” Y.T. says. “It’s a fucking sin, remember?”
“Depends on your cultural orientation.”
“Oh, yeah? What culture are you oriented to?”
“I am an Aleut.”
“Oh. I’ve never heard of that.”
“That’s because we’ve been fucked over,” the big scary Aleut says, “worse than any other people in history.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Y.T. says. “So, uh, do you want me to serve up some fish, or are you gonna stay hungry?”
The big Aleut stares at her for a while. Then he jerks his head sideways and says, “Come on. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“What, and skip out on this cool job?”
He grins ridiculously. “I can find you a better job.”
“In this job, do I get to leave my clothes on?”
“Come on. We’re.going now,” he says, those eyes burning into her. She tries to ignore a sudden warm tense feeling down between her legs.
She starts following him down the cafeteria line, heading for a gap where she can exit into the dining area. The head babushka bitch comes stomping out from in back, hollers at her in some incomprehensible language.
Y.T. turns to look back. She feels a pair of big hands sliding up her sides, coming up into her armpits, and she pulls her arms to her sides, trying to stop it. But it’s no good, the hands come all the way up and keep lifting, keep rising into the air, bringing her with them. The big guy hoists her right up over the counter like she’s a three-year.old and sets her down next to him.
Y.T. turns back around to see the head babushka bitch, but